


Drive

by AidaRonan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky is one whole mood, Deep Throating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drooling, Hand Jobs, Large Beef Carol Danvers, Large Beef Steve Rogers, M/M, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: Steve and Bucky are hanging out at Carol and Maria's when the thirst hits."Buck, we gotta go.""You're driving."Or sometimes you lay eyes on a super-muscular Carol Danvers and it ruins your life.





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steebadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steebadore/gifts).



> This is another thank you fic [for charitable donations.](https://twitter.com/BiStarBucky/status/1144633735385702400) Thank you Steeb for donating to RAICES. <33 
> 
> The prompt was simply "top me" but it came after we both saw some [very intense NSFW art](https://dimaiv-nov.tumblr.com/post/185805942137/dimaiv-nov-2) of a muscular Carol, so I present thirsty bi disaster Bucky Barnes (with a quiet side of Steve who has never seen a woman who could kick his ass without Feeling Things.)

At the ripe age of 24, Bucky Barnes acquired a shirt. It was charcoal gray with bright paint-splattery pink, purple, and blue letters that declared him a “bisexual disaster.”

At 26, he’s nearly worn the shirt out, and he’s not sure what he’ll do when the threadbare cotton finally gives up the ghost. He’s looked everywhere online and can’t seem to find another or anything like it. Not to be dramatic or anything, but it’ll be the biggest tragedy to befall him since he tried to give himself bangs in 7th grade.

“Nice shirt,” Maria says, falling back onto the plush white leather sofa, her feet kicking into the air, drink sloshing around in her glass.

“If it fits.” Bucky shrugs. Maria’s pretty, with toned legs and a bright smile. Not that it’s any real measure of a person’s worth or attractiveness, but he would’ve asked her out back when he was single.

It’s her wife who kills him though. Carol looks like she was made by someone who only kinda knew what a human being was supposed to look like, but not in a bad way. She’s 300 pounds worth of muscles stuffed into a 150-pound body. He’s pretty sure if she punched him, he’d fly through at least two walls, and then he’d get up, dust himself off, and thank her for it.

He hasn’t wanted to bruise his knees so badly for another person since he first laid eyes on Steve.

“Bucky, you need anything?” Carol stands in the doorway that leads to the large open kitchen and dining area. Even with her arms down at her sides, her biceps look like two peach-toned armadillos. “Steve wanted me to ask.”

_Top me_ , Bucky’s dumb, bi brain replies.

“Tell him to come sit on my feet. They’re cold.”

Carol smiles, her shoulders shaking once, and then she turns around and disappears through the doorway. Bucky can’t help but watch her go. She’s wearing a racerback top that shows off just exactly how ripped her back muscles are. It’s like watching several kittens wrestle under a skin blanket.

“How do you even get out of bed in the mornings?” Bucky asks Maria.

“Hey, I could ask you the same question.”

It’s true. Steve looks like someone filled a bodystocking with the entire watermelon supply of the neighborhood farmers market. He bulges in all the right places, and he has the strength to back it up.

The way he can pin Bucky down when Bucky wants him to.

Bucky reaches for his half-empty Moscow Mule and tips it back.

“Thirsty?” Maria asks.

“You’ve got no idea.” Bucky empties the glass and chomps down on an ice cube.

“Oh, I might have an inkling.”

Carol and Steve come back, and for a minute Bucky has the image of them both trying to come through the doorway at once and getting stuck like sausage links in a too-small Ziplock bag. But Steve hangs back and lets Carol lead with the tray of snacks.

“You didn’t ask, but I figured,” Steve says, setting another Moscow Mule beside Bucky’s empty one.

“And that’s why you get the good head, Stevie,” Bucky takes a gulp.

“Are you even capable of- never mind.” Steve plops down on the loveseat and lets Bucky settle his feet up under his beefsteak thighs. Steve’s wearing denim cutoffs of all things. Where the side seams are no longer machine-knotted in place, his massive legs are forcing them farther apart, forming tiny V shapes over his hairy flesh.

Bucky swallows and decides on getting absolutely shitfaced within the hour. He has to be. It’s for his own dumb bitch survival.

“Help yourselves, guys.” Carol grabs a chip and runs it through the dip bowl before popping it in her mouth.

Shitfaced and stuffed full of guacamole. What’s a little thirsty stress eating among friends?

“Stevie, would you…?”

Steve gives Bucky’s calf a squeeze and leans forward to load a tiny compostable plate with snacks.

“Anything else, Buck?”

Yeah, do you think our friends would be super pissed if you railed me in the guest room? Like right now?

“I’m good, thanks.” Bucky gives him a too-wide smile and digs into the chips.

“Movies and snacks, then we can play some games outside?” Carol suggests.

Bucky starts nodding, Maria shrugs, and Steve looks at Bucky before nodding too. So that’s what they do or at least start to do. Carol turns on _Fury Road_ and leans back against Maria. Bucky continues to eat his fill in tortilla chips and beg drink refills off of Steve until Max walks away from the Citadel.

“Fuck, that’s a good movie,” Bucky slurs.

“Wait, was that your first time?” Carol asks with an air of excitement.

“No, but it’s really fucking good. The soundtrack, the visuals, Tom Hardy’s stupidly fuckable face. Very good film. Twenty out of ten.” Bucky looks over to find Steve staring at him with that goofy look on his face, that one that makes Bucky feel both warm and uncomfortable all at once. He digs his toes into Steve’s perfectly round ass just to make him squirm and look somewhere else.

“Buck!”

“I’m gonna set up out back,” Carol says, nodding toward a box in the corner Bucky hadn’t noticed until that point. It looks big. And heavy. She squats down to pick it up, her thighs like two long balloons filled with chopped sirloin. Bucky’s entire brain turns into static.

“Steve, I forgot I…”

“You?”

“Steve,” Bucky says, pleading. He accidentally makes eye contact with Maria who smirks at him over the top of her drink.

“You not feeling well?” Steve asks.

“I left the thing at home. We gotta… we can come back.”

“The thing?” Steve looks genuinely confused, and what the fuck, Steve? Why haven’t you learned to telepathically read all of my thoughts, you fucking human oak tree?

“Steve.”

“Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight…” Maria starts singing quietly, swirling her drink in her hand. Carol hums along.

“Bucky, is it something we might have here? What’s ours is yours and all that,” Carol says, her arm muscles now impossibly large as they work to hold the weight of the box. Bucky starts laughing, giggling desperately.

“I’m too drunk and too bi for this,” Bucky says. “Stevie, I wanna fuck you. Now.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

“Ah. Maria, wanna help me out back?”

“Mhmm.”

Maria unfolds herself and stands up, following Carol through the sliding glass doors that lead into the backyard.

“Steee-eeve.” Bucky walks his fingers up one of Steve’s forearms, dancing them through the soft hair that coats it.

“Buck, I fucking love you and love fucking you, but can’t this wait?”

“No.”

“Are you-” Steve pauses, his eyes focused on something outside. Bucky turns his head and feels his entire being fling itself into the proverbial void. He is a swirling vortex of internal screams, nothing but a random assembly of ethereal energy floating through the vast cosmos of hhnnngghh.

Carol has Maria up off the ground, legs wrapped around her waist, her arms tight around Maria’s hips and lower back. They aren’t kissing, aren’t even being particularly sexual—if anything, they’re two people in love being adorable, talking and laughing with their foreheads pressed together. But the problem for Bucky’s thirsty bi disaster brain is that it looks so effortless. For all that Carol’s body is straining to keep her up off the ground, Maria may as well be a pillowcase full of helium.

“Buck, we gotta go,” Steve says hoarsely.

“You’re driving,” Bucky says, already stumbling toward the front door with his shoes in his hands.

They make it as far as their garage, hands and mouths on each other before the door finishes rolling down. Steve tries to crawl over the console, and one of his pillar-like legs smashes against the steering wheel. The horn goes off for several seconds.

“Out,” Steve says, the horn going off again while he tries to crawl back into his seat, swearing several times. He fumbles for the handle. On his side of the car, Bucky fumbles too, grabbing everything but the thing that will release him from the unsexy confines of the sedan.

The car finally spits him out into the garage, so close to the wall that he feels like he has to suck in. He sidles forward around the Toyota, Steve meeting him in front of the bumper and shoving him roughly up onto the hood. Two large hands bracket his waist, keeping him in place even while gravity tries to slide him right off onto the concrete. Bucky’s bare forearms squeak against the paint job, but it doesn’t matter. Steve’s finally touching him, setting every point of contact between them ablaze.

His thick bristly beard burns Bucky’s mouth and chin with every swipe of his lips.

“Dick,” Bucky slurs out somewhere between kisses.

“Me? What did I do?”

“No, your dick,” Bucky says feverishly, surging forward to nip at Steve’s lips. “In my face.”

Steve stops and leans up to hover over Bucky’s body. His ribeye-like hands squeeze against Bucky’s ribs.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, Buck? Think you’ve earned that?” He’s smirking though, the heat of it like a blast of oven air.

“Want you to fuck my throat. If my mouth gets in the way, well…”

Steve laughs and lets go of his waist, letting Bucky melt off the top of the car like a candy bar left on a hot dash.

Leaning against the hood, Steve puts his hands palms-down on the metal. Bucky frowns down at the concrete in front of him.

“Hard.” He pouts.

“Shit, right.” Steve looks around the garage, always resourceful. Two steps, and he rips one of the foam boogie boards they take to the beach down off a metal shelving unit. A box tips in its wake, several different sports balls pouring out of it. They fly and roll around the garage, like the bouncing ball over the lyrics of a children’s sing-along if all the words were made of bees.

“Well, fuck,” Steve says, but Bucky just rips the boogie board out of his grip and throws it to the floor after kicking a tennis ball out of the way. He drops to his knees like a guitarist during the last song of the night, like a goddamned champion sliding into home plate, like a man who has never loved anything more than putting his mouth on people until they orgasm with their fingers tangled in his long, wavy hair.

Wait, that last one’s right on the money. He frantically works the button on Steve’s shorts, wishing he’d had just one less drink. He’s not too drunk to fuck, and he knows Steve knows where his lines are, where he needs to push Bucky’s hands away and just tuck him into bed.

Bucky’s not there. But he’s having a damn hard time getting into Steve’s shorts.

“Did you glue these on?” Bucky huffs.

“Here, Buck, I’ve got you.” Steve undoes the buttons easily, and Bucky grabs his wrist, sucks one of his thumbs into his mouth. It’s not enough, but it’s a nice preview, and the delicious way it makes Steve’s body shudder is worth the pause. Bucky lets Steve shove the denim down his thighs and fish his cock free of his boxer briefs.

There are times when Bucky goes at this delicately. He’ll lick and bite the hairy mountains of muscle that are Steve’s thighs; he’ll teasingly run his tongue down the veiny underside and through the slit; he’ll even tease Steve’s hole with a few wet flicks.

This is not one of those times.

Like a Greyhound bus disappearing into a tunnel to another dimension, Bucky engulfs Steve’s cock in one fluid movement, not stopping until his shoulders seize with a gag.

“Jesus, Buck.” One of Steve’s palms slips off the car and he has to catch himself, his hand violently slapping down on the still warm hood.

Bucky goes down again, concentrates on relaxing his throat muscles. Steady, steady, he takes Steve deeper and deeper until his nose is buried in the wiry, musky curls at the base of Steve’s erection.

One of Steve’s hands comes up off the car and buries itself in Bucky’s long, dark waves. Something in Bucky preens with pride and pleasure.

“I love it when you do that.” Steve’s voice already sounds wrecked—rough and dry, like he’s been on a waterless trek through the desert or a Six Flags parking lot in mid-July.

Bucky pulls off just far enough to hum, feeling infinitely satisfied at the jolt it sends up Steve’s body. Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair andgently nudge him deeper.

They keep going, Bucky repeatedly lodging Steve as far back into his throat as he can. There’s coughing, and water welling up in his eyes, and a puddle of drool forming on the foam by his knees. His own cock is aching with need.

“You gonna let me take you?” Steve asks. “Or is this all you want?”

Bucky pulls off and lets the drool drip from his chin. He slides his hands underneath the hem of Steve’s tank, feels the wide expanse of man beneath it.

“Come up here and kiss me,” Steve says. Demands. Bucky stands up gracelessly and grabs hold of him for balance with a quiet giggle. Steve swallows the sound with his mouth.

“Have I told you how much I love your ass in these jeans?” Steve’s hands span almost the entirety of Bucky’s backside when they grip it tight enough to make Bucky feel lighter on his feet.

“Where?” Bucky asks, tilting his head back so Steve can mouth at his neck. Steve takes full advantage of the open invitation. He sucks and bites everywhere, then scrapes along Bucky’s Adam’s apple and jawline with his bushy beard. It’s not long until Bucky feels the burn of it, like the lingering sting of sunlight on his skin after too many hours at the beach.

“Walk,” Steve orders, but his hands are around Bucky so tight that as long as Bucky doesn’t tell him to let go, he doesn’t even need to think about where they’re going. Steve moves them both several feet across the concrete floor of the garage and pushes Bucky up against the deep freeze unit humming away against the wall.

Finding that one spot behind Bucky’s ear, Steve mouths at it, narrowing Bucky’s world to that single point of sensation. By the time Steve pulls away and Bucky’s back in his body, he’s sitting on top of the deep freeze with his legs open around Steve’s hips, Steve grinding against him, smearing pre-come all over the front of his hole-ridden skinny jeans.

A particularly aggressive roll of Steve’s hips has Bucky moaning in his ear. Then again, maybe he’s been moaning this entire time. Who’s to say?

“Why are you even wearing this?” Bucky asks, clawing at Steve’s tank until he leans forward and lets him pull it off over his shaggy honey-blond hair. “You should be banned from shirts forever. Fucking illegal.”

“I feel the same way about you and… every scrap of fabric on this body,” Steve digs both hands into Bucky’s outer thighs. They’re not nearly the size of Steve’s, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t nice to look at, nice to squeeze and roughly tug around one’s waist while they’re obliterating you like a sledgehammer thrown into a sack full of stained glass.

“It’s your body, Steve.” Bucky puts his hands over Steve’s and moves them up past the top of his skinny jeans, under the worn cotton of his shirt, and up his torso. Thick, rough thumbs brush over Bucky’s nipples. Steve scrapes his nails across them next, rubbing and scratching at Bucky’s skin until he’s panting with need so thick he can feel it weighing down the oxygen in the garage.

Steve slides his hands back down, grabs the hem of Bucky’s shirt and pulls. His jeans come next, Steve deftly unbuttoning and unzipping and peeling them down Bucky’s legs to pool above the tops of his red Converse.

“God, look at you,” Steve says “Breathing heavy, your cock so hard I can almost feel how much you’re aching for it. You wanna come, Buck? Because I wanna make a mess.”

Steve pushes his pelvis forward and grips both of them in his calloused hands, forcing their erections together. Bucky’s body chases the friction without so much as consulting his brain about it, hips jerking forward to fuck into Steve’s hand.

When the head of Bucky’s cock catches somewhere—either Steve’s fingers or Steve’s erection or on the jagged edge of the goddamned mountain of debauchery between them—Bucky lets his shoulders and head fall back against the wall of the garage, a groan vibrating out of his lungs.

“There you go, Buck. Let it feel good.” Steve keeps moving his hand up and down both their lengths, keeps them pressed close together. He’s rocking into the heat of it too, the pump his hips and Bucky’s like the pistons of a well-oiled machine with one sole purpose.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. Bucky hears it in the schck of their skin moving together. He feels it in the way his body’s careening ever closer towardthe edge of the track.

“Steve, I-”

“Good and messy, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up,” he says, giving them both one overly tight squeeze that has Bucky yelping and then moaning so deep and broken that it sounds like a sob. His come goes everywhere—on his own stomach, on the line of dark hair that runs up Steve’s middle, on Steve’s cock, on Steve’s fingers.

Steve pumps him through it, his hips jerking into nothingness when he finally lets then both go.

“Buck…” he says, his voice like a prayer, and Bucky reaches out and grabs hold of him, rapidly moving his fist, smearing his own climax down Steve’s length.

Steve comes with a long drawn-out “fuck.” The mess gets even bigger, and then Steve makes it worse when he wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him flush against him, smearing their orgasms between their skin.

He kisses Bucky like a the roots of a desert plant desperately sucking up water, one hand tight against Bucky’s bare back, the fingers of the other tangled in Bucky’s sweaty waves

When he’s done, he swipes through the combined mess between them. Bucky already has his mouth open before Steve even brings his hand up, greedily sucking the digits clean when Steve presses them against his tongue.

Then there’s Steve, ever-affectionate, wrapping his arms around Bucky again and squeezing him in a crushing hug. His lips press against Bucky’s crown.

“I love you.”

“Can you love me in the shower?” Bucky mumbles before kissing Steve’s bare shoulder. “I love you too, punk.”

It takes them all of fifteen minutes to shower and re-dress, Bucky sliding on a new tee, this one featuring the NASA logo redone in rainbow.

“Ready to head back?” Steve asks, and Bucky slides into the passenger seat, flinging his high tops up onto the dash.

“You know, if Carol wasn’t married…” 

“And if _you_ weren’t married…” Steve adds, backing out of the garage.

“Shut up. If Carol wasn’t married, I’d-”

“You’d what?”

Bucky thinks about it and sighs.

“I don’t know, Steve. I just want her to step on me.”

“Pretty valid there, pal. But you know I’ll step on you anytime you want, Buck.”

Bucky leans his head against the window and smiles, reaching over to twine his smaller, bony fingers with Steve’s kielbasa-like digits.

“Yeah, I think I remember something like that in your vows.”


End file.
